


After All This Talk of Death

by mymetalphantom



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:36:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1452367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mymetalphantom/pseuds/mymetalphantom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk needs to banish the images of death.</p>
<p>Set after the episode "The Empath".</p>
            </blockquote>





	After All This Talk of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Even though it's not technically a shippy fic, I feel it has some shippy elements. Probably because I ship these two pretty hard on the sly.

It was the shift colloquially known as the night shift or the graveyard shift, and Captain James T. Kirk was walking the corridors of the Enterprise.

He liked to do that sometimes, walk down the empty corridors at night where no one was about to bother him, when there were no emergencies keeping him on the bridge. He would just stroll around, seeing, hearing, and breathing in his ship.

This was not one of those times. Tonight there was a destination set in his mind and a very definite purpose in his stride. 

He was tired, stiff and sore but sleep remained firmly out of his reach, no matter how many well-worn techniques he tried. His mind was crowded with questions, doubts and horrible images of death; the sort of thoughts that often plagued him after an away mission, but this time it was so much more personal.

Automatic doors opened with a soft hiss and he was greeted by a waft of air and the fresh, sterile scent of sickbay. The lighting was set low even though there were no sleeping patients there (small mercies) and there was a peaceful atmosphere, the room filled only by the gentle but persistent thrum of the ship’s engines. It was soothing and hypnotic. He had fallen asleep there many times, listening to his ship’s lullaby.

Kirk stepped into the office and saw McCoy sitting at his desk, stylus in hand, eyes flicking back and forth across his report padd. He looked up as he sensed Kirk’s presence and smiled; a lazy, half-grin that betrayed tiredness.

“Oh, good,” he said, his voice low, not wanting to shatter the peace that had settled over sickbay. “I thought you might be a patient.” Then his eyes narrowed. “You’re not, are you?”

Kirk shook his head and returned that lazy smile with a painful, weak one of his own.

At that moment in time Kirk was caught between a need to pull his friend into a fierce hug, relieved that he was hale and whole and the irrational desire to throttle the man for scaring him so badly.

Sacrificing his life like that, what was McCoy trying to do to him?

He wasn't sure he would ever get the image of his friend’s battered body out of his mind and he had been tempted in the past few days to ask Spock to completely remove the memory from him. Not that Spock would necessarily agree to that.

The odd thing was that, despite his appearance, Kirk had never thought of McCoy as being fragile before; the man was too tough and too belligerent. He had never worried about taking him on away missions. Now though he was worried about it and was even feeling retrospectively guilty about all the previous missions. How many times had he put him in danger without so much as a second thought? 

“I thought I ordered you to take it easy,” Kirk said as he stepped further into the office. McCoy rolled his eyes in response, dropped his stylus on the desk and sat back in his chair, looking up at his captain.

“Yes, Doctor, you did,” McCoy said sarcastically. “And I am. That’s why I'm on the graveyard shift. Nothing ever happens at this time of night. Just me and my paperwork.” He patted the padd on the desk.

Kirk found himself shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably. He didn't like that. He’d never felt uncomfortable around McCoy before this; friend, physician and personal bartender that he was. 

“What brings you down here?” McCoy asked him after a while, watching as he fidgeted.

Kirk paused for a beat then shrugged and said: “I wanted to see how you are?”

McCoy smiled a beautiful smile that he didn't use often enough. At that moment though, it seemed incongruous. Kirk didn't want to see it, not when his insides were still churning with guilt and anger and few other emotions he couldn't quite pin down. 

“Oh I'm fine,” he drawled. “Perfectly healthy, which is funny because before the mission I‘d been suffering from a little bit of back pain.” 

It was too soon to hear jokes about it and Kirk didn't laugh, didn't even smile. He just looked down at the floor, unable to meet McCoy’s eyes. He felt a sudden desperate surge of annoyance, but the last thing he wanted to do was lose his temper.

“All right, Jim,” McCoy said after another unusually painful silence. “I've known you too long. Coyness doesn't suit you. Just say what’s on your mind.”

“What the hell did you think you were playing at?” Kirk said in an angry rush before he had time to stop himself. The dam had burst though and there was no stopping the flow now. “Sacrificing yourself like that, disobeying orders from a senior officer. You were stupid and unethical and insubordinate and I would be well within my rights to take disciplinary action.”

He had never given a single thought to taking disciplinary action, but it was extraordinary what anger made you say.

McCoy stood slowly. From the look on his face Kirk could see that he was torn between regret and fury. “Jim, look-” he started but Kirk cut him off. 

“I wasn't impressed by your display of martyrdom,” he snapped in a spiteful, ungracious tone that he knew was beneath him. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, as soon as he saw McCoy’s soft blue eyes harden in anger.

“Well, sir,” he said with a sneer, “I didn't do it to impress you.” He turned away and Kirk was left staring at his back. “For God’s sake, Jim!” he spat out, turning to look at Kirk through his peripheral vision. “Would it have been better if...would you feel any better if you had been the one to make that choice? If you’d sent either Spock or myself with the Vians? Would you feel any better about yourself?”

The memory came back in full force now, the memory of that moment when the Vians had asked him to choose. Let McCoy die or let Spock go insane. The very thought of it brought a brick wall to the front of his mind, blocking any logical solution. It had been horrible and even the ethereal memory of it made his stomach twist in panic. 

“I'm sorry, Bones,” Kirk said after a few seconds and he watched McCoy’s tensed shoulders slump.

McCoy turned back, his gaze soft again now, sympathy shining through his eyes. “I didn't want you to have to make that choice, Jim,” he said in a gentle voice and took a step closer to his friend. “No one, ever, should have to make a decision like that.”

“I'm the captain, Bones; it’s my job to make those sorts of decisions.”

McCoy made a scoffing sound. “You don’t answer to the Vians, Jim. They had no right to ask you to choose. It was never really your decision to make.” There was no answer to that flawless piece of logic. Spock would be proud of him, despite the emotion behind his words. The notion made tears spring to the corners of his eyes, but he was used to suppressing that now.

“Jim,” McCoy said after a pause, “I've seen you when a crewman dies. You take it all so personally. I knew that if you were forced to make that decision you would beat yourself up over it for the rest of your life. I couldn't let you do that. I didn't do it to be heroic; I'm too old for that shit. I did it to spare you that and...”

McCoy stopped as if he had nothing more to say. But nobody finished a sentence with ‘and’ and Kirk could practically see the ellipses hanging in the still air between them. 

“And?” Kirk pushed. McCoy said nothing and shrugged nonchalantly. “Now who’s being coy?”

The doctor sighed again and he looked down at his boots. “And I guess...I guess I was a little afraid of hearing your decision.”

Kirk’s eyes went wide at the suggestion. McCoy really suspected that Kirk could have decided and that he would have eventually chosen Spock over him? The pain that gripped his heart at that moment felt worse than anything the Vians could have inflicted upon him and left him just as breathless.

“No,” he managed to force out. “I could never have chosen.” And it was true. The brick wall was still there behind his eyes. He couldn't choose. Professionally or personally he could not imagine his life without his two friends beside him. He tried to ignore it because it made him vulnerable, but there is was all the same.

McCoy looked up at him finally in surprise and wonder.

Kirk was forced to look away, overwhelmed by the entire conversation. He was embarrassed by the strength of the emotions he was feeling at that moment; the last tattered vestiges of primitive male pride making him cringe at such a display of affection. 

He felt the warm pressure of McCoy’s hand on his shoulder. He made himself look back up into his face and he saw that rare smile again. This time it was a welcome sight. Between that smile and the vivid blue eyes and the heat of the hand on his shoulder, Kirk was reminded that his old friend was very much alive.

Spontaneously he acted on his original impulse and pulled McCoy towards him, into an ardent hug which McCoy returned with equal enthusiasm. So warm and solid and, just as he suspected all along, not half as fragile as he looked. Nothing like the limp, virtually lifeless body he had held in his arms a few days ago.

McCoy was no fighter, at least not physically, but he was strong willed, stubborn most would say and sure in his convictions. Maybe that made him stronger than any of them. After all, he was the one who nearly died and yet he wasn't being half as neurotic about it as Kirk was.

 

“Damn it, Jim,” McCoy said, his voice thick with emotion, “They put us in this big metal box where we live on top of each other, hardly seeing anyone else for months on end, facing life or death situations together, then they tell us not to get involved, to stay professional.” Kirk squeezed McCoy harder still. “It’s not possible. We can’t help but become involved.”

They finally pulled away from the embrace, both smiling, genuinely smiling, for the first time in days. 

“You’re the only thing that stops me going crazy out here,” McCoy admitted and it made Kirk grin even wider. “You and Spock.” He went serious for a moment. “But don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

Kirk let out a quiet burst of laughter. “I promise, Bones,” he said and patted McCoy on the cheek. “You promise me something?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Don’t die.” He said the words with a smile, but he was serious. He didn't want to live in a world without his best friend, the man he confided in, got drunk with; a man he admired more than his male pride would ever let him admit aloud.

McCoy raised an eyebrow at him. “What, ever?”

“If you can help it.”

They were treating it as a joke but both saw the hidden meaning behind it. 

“I’ll definitely try my best.”

They traded warm smiles, the types of smiles reserved only for each other, before the weight of their emotions became too much for them and embarrassment set in.

McCoy broke first, changing the subject. “You really look like you need some sleep, Jim.” The hand went back to his shoulder and he flexed his fingers, massaging the sore muscles there. Jim sighed softly at the sensation and had to admit that he felt thoroughly exhausted. “Go lie down before you fall down.”

“Sound medical advice, Doctor.” He definitely felt more comfortable with the idea of sleeping, now that he had McCoy’s smile in his mind instead of his beaten face, now that the vibrant life of the man had banished the images of death that had haunted him for days.

“Mind if I stay here?” Kirk asked, nodding towards the small cot in the corner of the office, the one reserved for emergencies.

The question shocked McCoy but he wouldn't deny him. “Of course,” he replied with a smile and nod. He understood, because he understood Jim Kirk all too well.

Kirk lay down on the cot and closed his eyes, concentrating only on the sound of the engines the calming presence of his friend sitting working a few feet away from him. Even if sleep never came he was content to just stay there, relaxed, safe and surrounded by life.


End file.
